Memories for the Hawk
by lagrange
Summary: Clint is struggling with nightmares of his past that keep resurfacing after their initial battle with Loki and future battles to come. He relies on humor and the unity of his friends. I moved the rating up to M because of the memories developing and coming out.
1. Chapter 1

___I haven't seen much fanfiction that was all about Clint or really had much of his back story. Mostly Clint with others or Clint with Natasha. I think that Hawk Eye deserves his own story, his own struggles outside of what we've heard or seen in the movie. I tried to let what I think Clint's personality would be like, while still adding humor from the rest of the gang. Thanks in advance for reading and/or reviewing! Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

_'Get down, Clint!' A young man screamed before being shot in the head by an unseen force. He hid under the table, shaking from the cool air that danced around his skin and the pure fear he would never be able to forget. Bombs went off, people yelled for help, blood splattered on every wall in sight. The booming of guns and the replaying circus music filled Clint's ears and not even his hands over them muffled the sound. The shooting stopped and he hesitantly crawled from the safety of the table to his brother's sprawled dead body. Before the tears began, he was lifted by the collar of his stained shirt and was looking into deep that promised him no comfort, only death and pain. Then everything went black._

Clint awoke with a start, his body sweaty and clammy. His short hair matted to his forehead, promising to be filthy when dry. The sheets tangled around his lean body, trapping the memory, and nightmare, to him. Lying back down, he ran a shaky hand over his face and tried to clear his mind to no avail. The haunting reminder he pushed down for so long was active in him now. Moving into a sitting position, he thought to himself, 'Dammit, Clint, get it together.' He heard the sound of raised voices and feet stomping, signaling him that the other Avengers were active.

Clint grabbed a black shirt and dark jeans and headed to the shower in his suite. Even if Tony was a pompous ass, he was generous enough to allow all the Avengers to stay in his Tower, giving them nicer quarters than some of them were used to. The marble shower bounced the steam from the water into the rest of the room, turning the air hazy and muggy. Clint stood, hand braced against the wall, under the stream until it ran cool. Stepping out onto the tile, he dried off and clothed himself.

As he walked down the corridor to one of Tony's lavish sitting areas, he heard bickering ensue and smiled to himself.

"Dammit, Tony, stop being stubborn and just talk to her!" Natasha's voice rang out.

"If it were that easy, Red, I would have done it already." Tony snapped.

"Must you always argue?" Came a grumble from Thor as he chewed on a bagel.

Clint smirked and leaned against the door frame, watching the chaos around him. The months had passed and they became like a family. The thought of family shot a pang through his heart and he shook his head to clear the emotion.

He was greeted by Banner and Thor before sitting in a vacant chair beside Steve, who was focused intently on his breakfast. The Captain hated bickering between them almost as much as injustice and when one of the them spoke of their wild sex adventures.

Tony directed his attention towards Clint. "Ah, Barton, a man with sense," He began as the other men of the group mumbled, "Tell Natasha that women are complex and a simple 'apology' isn't going to fix anything."

Surprised by the Iron Man's call for an opinion, Clint's eyes widened, "Uh, well, you see.." He didn't know where to begin or what to say. Natasha's eyes were slits on him. He looked around the room to the other men, but the avoided his gaze with a passion. 'Those bastards,' Clint thought to himself. "Tony is...partially right. Most women don't take a word or two and drop it." He was slow, hoping that Natasha's boot wouldn't connect with his jaw. "However, Natasha is also right. You aren't talking about most women. You're talking about Pepper, a woman who has put up with far worse than...wait what did you do to her?" He looked to Stark.

"It was a simple misunderstanding, really. I may or may not have told her she couldn't stay here anymore." Tony's eyebrows furrowed.

A small snicker escaped Clint, "And she didn't take that lightly? How rude."

Tony let out a huff, "It's for protection, dammit. I don't want her around when Fury's little entourage comes rolling into the tower. There are other nasty things that go bump in the night and I can't always protect her." He tried to defend his motives.

Natasha threw her hands in the air and said, "So tell her what you're telling us! She's a reasonable woman."

"Unlike someone I know," Mumbled Tony, wincing at the glare Natasha sent him.

Barton rose from the table, slowly walking back towards the door, hoping to escape the next war between Nat and Tony. He was halfway down the hallway before a firm hand was on his shoulder. He gave a sideways glance and looked at Steve, who looked a little irritated and tired.

"How about we go for a jog? Get away from the arguing," Steve suggested.

Clint nodded and grinned, "Race you to the bottom!" And he was off, warming up for his run around the city with Captain America.


	2. Chapter 2

_I'm not going to lie, when I first started writing this chapter and getting into the 'nitty gritty' of Clint's memories, I became enthralled and emotional. I hope that you see as much...fierce resistance and pain that I think Clint would. I really hope you all like this. Thank you in advance for reading and/or reviewing!_

* * *

There was the soft hum of the training room around him and nothing else. Clint took a slow and steady breath and positioned his bow.

_'You will never amount to anything without practice. Listen, boy, your life hangs in _my _hands. NOW SHOOT.'_

In one fluid motion his bow was strung with a glossy arrow. The gray and red of the target came into focus and his fingers flexed.

_'Remember your brother, you pathetic swine. It will be you next if you do not shoot.' A low hiss._

The arrow broke through the air with speed and grace. It landed directly in the center of the target. Clint lowered his bow and put a hand to his head. The memory of his first training session with "Luciao" or, as Clint was forced to call him, "My Commander." A low growl escaped his slightly chapped lips and he shot another arrow as a new memory formed in his mind.

_'You did good, my child, you will be rewarded.' The sneer formed on Luciao's face, the dark lust entering his eyes. They bore into Clint's soul as cold hands touched his arms. _

The memory nearly choked him and the threat of warm tears formed behind his eyes. A slow pressure strung itself from his head to his heart and down to his stomach. Clint's hands clenched into fists and his breathing became shallow. He had long abandoned his bow, it now lay at his feet as though a wanton lover.

_He was helpless, powerless, emotionless as the older man drained Clint's innocence little-by-little before he was an almost empty shell of a man at the age of twenty-one. He shared the similar snarl of his Commander, his eyes nearly as deep and vacant. Only the most inner part of Clint survived the years of torture, and that part was locked away as well as his humanity and morality. _

Clint opened his eyes, the pupil contracted around the ever-changing vivid color of them. His lips were parted slightly from the ragged breaths he was taking. "You aren't that person anymore, Barton," he said quietly to himself, a hope of self reassurance. He furrowed his brows and ran a hang through his hair, mussing it more so than it already was. Grabbing a nearby towel and picking up his bow, he moped the sweat from his face and neck and threw the towel in the small basket near the door.

As he was leaving he managed to run into Tony who greeted him with, "Hey, Robin Hood, almost done for today? Us other brilliant superheroes need training time."

Clint rolled his eyes and gave a small snort, nodding towards the Iron Man. He heard Tony laughing behind him and walked with broad, conservative steps towards his suite. Back in his room, he mulled over the training session and the memories that had been released. Fear, anger, and a mess of other things invaded him. Questions like 'what if they come back when I'm fighting and I hurt one of my friends' and 'how would I tell them if they catch on to the relapses' plagued him. Natasha knew very little, as he could never bring himself to mention the Commander or his training, other than what happened to his brother. He barely admitted the abuse and torture to himself.

Clint stood up and stretched, feeling the dull ache of a workout and the pains of hunger. He rubbed his stomach slightly and grabbed his coat. It was a black leather jacket that suited his personality and made him feel damn cool. The jacket was a gift from Pepper and Tony for his birthday. He smiled at the memory and fingered the smooth leather for a moment, allowing the happy memory to fill his mind.

_'Clint, I know you don't 'do birthdays' but we're a family now so take the damn present before I shove it up your ass.' Tony always had a way with words. _The other Avengers had thrown him a party in honor of his birthday. He loved attending and planning the others birthdays, but his...his wasn't something he wanted to rejoice. At points in his life, and he will deny to most people, he wished that he was never born. Finally, with the help of Pepper, Clint accepted the gift from the other man and offered him a hug. Thor bought him a cape and said that 'every superhero needs a cape', much to Tony's annoyance. Natasha gave him what she always does, a song. Banner gave him a rubix cube and an old collection of tapes. Clint enjoyed puzzles and old music. He thanked everyone before Steve came running up the steps, a picture frame in his hand. Square and wooden, it looked vintage in its form and held a photo of the group, smiling as if they were a real family. Clint said nothing for a moment before hugging Steve. The rest of the night consisted of..well...in all honesty he couldn't remember. Tony had bought 'only the finest alcohol for such an occasion.'

Clint tucked his wallet into his pants and glanced over at the picture sitting on his desk. _Family. _He shook his head gently and walked out the door, hoping to catch his favorite sub shop before it closed.


	3. Chapter 3

_Terribly sorry for the lack of update. My muse disappeared but now is back and ready to go! I figured it was time Clint had a little family brought into everything. I hope you guys like it. Thanks in advance for reading and/or reviewing!_

* * *

A caressing breeze brought the smell of fresh dirt and wild flowers to assault almost every one of Clint's senses. He stood, feet planted to the ground as his body was in an unmoving state. The ever-changing blue and green flecks of his assassins eyes were focused intently on the two worn graves he stood over. A burning tension bloomed through his neck and shoulders, forcing a sigh out of his slightly chapped lips. The team had just completed a small job near his hometown in Iowa. Natasha kept giving him stares, knowing stares, but he blew them off until he saw it.

Clint was sore, battered, but feeling invincible despite the roughness. Natasha, Steve, and Bruce were slightly dozing in the pit, but he was alert and focused on piloting the plane. That's when he saw them. Dozens and dozens of scarlet, lavender, and sky blue flowers scattered in various patterns below. Clint had unknowingly flown the plane over his parent's burial place. With a shaky breath he lowered the jet and with steady steps he walked towards the graves that simply read _'Michael Barton' _and_ 'Nora Barton'_. He knelt before their graves with no second thought to how the knees of his jeans would familiar heat of tears grew behind his eyes and he pressed slender fingers to his eyelids, hoping to keep them from falling.

Clint heard scuffling behind him, the sound of material against soft grass, and tensed. He allowed himself a silent sigh of defeat before plastering his normal goofy grin. He rose from his knees and turned, hands in his pockets to find Natasha, Steve, and Bruce in a line, their eyes in different variations of emotions. Steve's held a knowing sadness similar to Clint's own. Natasha's held a smoldering fire that spoke volumes of friendship. But Bruce's are what panged him the most. They were...light, happy, even. He had expected pity or something worse, but there was nothing of the sort in Banner's eyes. Bruce noticed Clint's slight confusion and shifted shyly before walking towards him with a courage not normally used.

"Do you see how these flowers are growing?" Bruce's voice was as gentle as the breeze that ruffled Clint's hair. "It's not common for these types of wild flowers to grow in this area. The soil is too...dense and matted for proper nutrition." He hoped Clint would understand where he was going, the almost magical stance he was implying.

Clint nodded, a thousand words of thanks and bubbling happiness formed a ball in his throat. He cleared the emotion and turned back to where his parents graves were.

"How did they die?" This from Steve. His naivety and Clint's overall affection for him over weighed his instinct to tell him to shut the hell up.

A shushing noise came from Natasha's lips, her eyes darting towards the Captain with a scolding and an understanding. Clint had never told her the story. Bruce stood and wrung his fingers, a nervous habit that they were all trying to break him from.

"It was snowing in March. Fucking March. There were already flowers blooming and my mom kept having headaches from the pollen. It was unexpected, a small blizzard came through fast and hard." He took a small breath before continuing. "My older brother and I wanted pizza. I hated mushrooms and he hated pasta. My parents didn't want to argue with us so they decided to go out. It had finally stopped snowing, and...and they thought the streets would be clear enough.

"They smiled, kissed our foreheads, and said the usual parting phrase 'keep safe' before leaving. I was so young and Carson was barely fourteen. We waited for an hour and a half before Carson became worried. I was only five but I still remember the way his face kept looking hopefully out the window when a car would pass." Clint's voice had dropped down low enough not to be classified as a whisper, but just about.

"After three hours there was a knock. Two officers, both with _that look_ in their eyes, gave us the news. I didn't quite understand but Carson...h-he...he broke down. My parents hit a thick patch of ice and their car spun before crushing into a snow bank. They would have survived if the massive truck had saw their car earlier." He cleared his throat and turned back around, once against shocked at the scene before him. Natasha and Steve were huddled together, crying, as Banner gave comforting pats to their backs. Bruce's eyes weren't as lively as before, but they held no true pity or remorse in them. This time Clint knew why, knew that he understood.

The Hawk glanced to the crying forms and rubbed the tension in his neck awkwardly, not knowing what to say. He settled on humor and a casual smirk took over his lips. "Shouldn't you be the ones comforting me?" There were muffled sniffles and the sound of Bruce sighing before everyone was composed.

"We should probably make our way back...I'm sure Tony thinks we've skipped out and done something fun without him," Banner walked towards Clint, a surprisingly strong hand giving his shoulder and reassuring squeeze.

"C'mon, race you back to the jet!" Clint's eyebrows rose and the grin he reserved for only his friends painted his lips before he took off running, looking back to see the look of compition blazed in Natasha's red, puffed eyes.

_'Keep safe, Clint, and never forget the ones you love.'_ his mothers voice echoed in his head.


	4. Chapter 4

_I hadn't intended for it to be this long, but it sort of took off and here it is. I hope you all enjoy it. I really appreciate you guys, no doubt about it. Thanks in advance for reading and/or reviewing!_

* * *

_Bodies littered the old factory with each sound of a gun or slice of a blade. Clint stood atop the factory and watched his fellow assassins rampage the tiny village and the building that held what they came for: three cases of plasma bombs. The tiny bombs, though seemingly useless, could generate enough energy to destroy a large city. It was perfect for Luciao, and Clint felt a happiness that he would be pleasing his commander. His moment of peacefulness, or what he had learned to feel as such, was disturbed be a rustling of trees behind him. His watchful eye caught a cascade of blonde hair before it disappeared into the trees. Clint's muscles quivered slightly as he moved from tree to tree until he stopped and let his body drop gracefully before the figure. It was a woman of about twenty-three. The blonde hair he saw was matted with blood and mud from her escape. Instinct took over, as it often did, and he felt the cool metal of the gun before he could think. She was screaming violently, begging him to spare her. She was beautiful, in a motherly, warm way that sent shots through his heart, and it was this that caused the moments hesitation before he sent the bullet through her heart. The gunshot caused a blotchy pattern on the woman's lavender dress, and Clint tilted his head as her horrified face was burned into his memories. He remembered each and every one of his kills. _

* * *

Clint's mind raced as he woke up, his eyes focused on three blurry figures hovering over him. The fuzz cleared and he recognized the faces of Natasha, Tony, and Pepper. He heard a groan escape his lips when he tried to lean forward and the room started to spin.

"Easy there, Robin Hood," Tony put a firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down on the firm, but comfortable cushion on the couch in his room.

"What the fuck happened?" Clint tried to process and think, but all that he could remember was suddenly feeling light-headed when they arrived back to the tower.

"You fainted," Pepper put hands on each side of his face, her voice amused and soft.

He felt the blood rush from his face. _He fainted? _

"What happened to you?" Tony's eyes darted from Natasha to Clint. "Sex too rough?"

Clint barked out a laugh that turned into a slight hiss at the pain in his head. "You're full of shit. I honestly don't know what happened."

"He took us..to his parents' grave," The red head spoke quietly but with the same firmness she always carried.

The memory sent little pains through his entire body and he sat back, swallowing the emotion that dared to erupt. Tony and Pepper nodded to Natasha's reply and stood in unison, their body language speaking more than they ever could about their relationship.

"Try to get some rest," Pepper kissed his forehead and left the room, trailing Tony behind.

"Not too much though. Group training session tomorrow," The bearded man called over his shoulder as he followed Pepper out, receiving a glare from both women.

Clint felt hesitant fingers trace the scar under his chin before lips touched he. He opened his eyes, meeting the piercing blue of Natasha's.

"You're worrying me, Barton. You know how much I despise worrying," The slight accent she carried was thicker with her emotion. When he gestured for her to join him on the couch, the red head fitted herself against him as he wrapped strong arms around her. There was no romance, no sexual tension in this embrace, only compassion and a friendship that they both never expected.

"Do I sense the fearsome Black Widow becoming a softie?" The Hawk's rough voice lingered in the room along with Natasha's tinkling laughter.

"Shut it, Barton, I can't help it," She gave his arm a slight shove before situating herself again.

He smiled, despite the overwhelming need to push her off and run away. Clint could feel the memories clawing back to the surface, their white-hot pain to shoot through his bones. A silent prayer and slow breaths seemed to calm him before Natasha took notice and asked, "Are you...okay?"

"Peachy, other than apparently fainting like I belong in the South during the war," His snarky comment didn't hold as much bite as it usually would, but Natasha didn't press. She of all people knew better than to press on sore wounds.

They laid together for awhile, no talking between them necessary for communication. Clint was the first to break the silence when he said, "We should probably go find the others, I'm starving." He felt the curls of his best friend's hair move against his chest as she nodded and rose.

* * *

The group sessions were Clint's favorite. They molded their skills to perfect the team advantage, while still maintaining enough for their own personal flairs. Tony had designed a special facility for their training, especially since Bruce was learning to control the Hulk, but accidents were still a present thought. This mission was designed to further air control between Tony and Clint, and how Thor could manage in both the air and on ground with the others. Steve, his Captain America outfit gracing his body, spat out orders with authority and clarity to everyone.

"Barton, I need you atop that railing," He pointed to brass rails surrounding the building. "You and Tony will need to maintain a pattern in order to keep the flying bots from reaching Natasha and I." Steve pointed to Bruce, who was taking off his shirt to prepare. "I need you to protect our outer regions. We're going to be busy with the middle." He nodded and with a loud grunt, his formed into the Hulk. Clint enjoyed watching his friends shift into battle mode, the way they would keep clear heads but always, _always _held concern for each others safety.

JARVIS' voice rang out through speakers placed on a street lamp near them. "5...4...3...2...1..GO," and with that they took off.

Tony and Thor were in the sky in moments, leaving the others on the ground. Clint's body was sleek and precise as he worked his way up to the railing before positioning his bow with an arrow, eyes surveying the scenes before him. Fighter bots began to appear in an avalanche of sorts on both the air and in the sky.

No time was wasted as they began to take down their targets, each of them using both their power and that of their companions. Clint called out to Tony and shot an arrow towards an incoming bot. Tony smirked and attached a bomb to tip before it hit the bot and exploded. The two men nodded with an agreed excitement before Clint strung his bow and shot another bot. To make the experience within a spectrum of reality, Tony had included bots to simulate people. A 'woman' below them screamed and Clint shot and arrow towards the bot that was harassing her.

Then he felt it. It was dull and sneaking at first, spreading through his body with determination and angst. Clint faltered and leaned against the metallic railing. A coldness gripped his heart and his lungs, sending him to his knees. He fought the pain that flashed through his body that destroyed the fight in his bones and muscles. He heard a scream but wasn't sure if it was his or not. As if a final act of mercy, everything went black.


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello, everyone! Sorry that it's been so long since I've updated, but my muse is back and I'm ready to go. I suppose I should put a warning here just in case anyone is triggered by the mentions of rape or torture. They aren't exactly explicit, but there none-the-less. Don't forget to review! Thanks in advance and I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

"Robin Hood! You okay up there?" Tony heard a thump from the railings above and looked towards Thor for assurance. When Clint didn't reply, he flew up until he was eye level with the shivering and deathly pale body of the Hawkeye.

"Guys! Quick, Clint's down." Tony ran over different reasons in his mind, wondering if he made the bots too lethal, but dismissed the idea and hefted the lean form of his friend into his arms, shouting to JARVIS to turn the simulation off. He gently laid Clint's body on the street below and stepped back, allowing everyone to huddle around him.

"Clint?" Natasha shook his shoulders, her voice fighting to remain even.

Bruce had turned back into himself at this point and spoke up, "Check his pulse."

The red head placed two fingers on Clint's wrist and this his neck and sighed, "His heart is racing but he seems to be okay." She looked up at Thor, "Help me get him to the infirmary?"

When the assassin was snug over the demi-god's shoulders and on his way to the clinic, Natasha turned to Tony and Steve who were talking quietly to themselves.

Tony's eyes held concern as he asked, "Do you know what caused this?"

She shook her head and closed her eyes against the fear bubbling up. Natasha sighed when Steve put comforting arm around her and walked with her up the stairs.

* * *

_"Shush, little bird...no screaming..." the sickeningly fake and sweet voice washed over his abused and bleeding body. The blade angled and he fought the scream that dared take place in his throat. Instead he huffed a breath and kept his eyes closed._

_The cold, rotten smell of Luciao's breath hummed in his ear, words that were meant to be soothing and loving whispered with an edge. Clint struggled against the binds that held each of his limbs apart from his body. The chains were digging into his wrists and probably cutting off his circulation. Again he felt the tearing of his skin under the knife. _

_"I told you not to move. You _will _obey me." A wet, assaulting tongue moved down Clint's sweaty neck, stopping only for crooked teeth to bite into the soft flesh of his jaw. "You are mine, little bird. Quiet now and let me take care of you."_

_The burning scrape of the knife appeared on his right thigh, not deep enough to scar but to remember. He felt long fingers with nails jagged and disgusting toy with the only article of clothing he had on: his underwear. Clint fought, twisting his hips away and screaming out into the darkness of the chilly room.  
_

_"Do not fight me. Let go. Let it all go..." the voice hissed. Then the nails came sliding down his legs, leaving welts in their decent. Before he realized it, the hot ball of tears formed behind his eyes and ran down his bruised cheeks. Clint was no stranger to the invasion of his innocence, to the sexual appetite of his torturer. He did what his Commander wanted. He let go. And that was the last time he fought the man back._

* * *

Clint's mind fazed in and out of the memory. He was aware of the dull throb in his head and the rhythmic beeping of a machine. Voices seemed far away and unintelligible.

A scared thirteen year old boy with shaggy, dirty blonde hair and green/blue eyes filled to the brim with tears hazed in his vision before being replaced by the dark eyes of the man who was the sole reason for Clint's darkened soul with his signature blade and grabby hands.

He gripped the sheets and exhaled audibly before slipping into unconsciousness yet again._  
_

* * *

They sat surrounding the bed, Natasha and Tony closest to him on each side. Bruce and Steve sat next to Natasha while Thor and Pepper were beside Tony. The drone beeping of the heart monitor connected to Clint was the only noise in the crowded room. All of their hands were linked, the possibility of jokes was available, but as the moment was inappropriate to begin with, they realized Clint was the one who joked the most. The red haired assassin let out an audible sigh and with her free hand, pushed Clint's bangs back.

"What the hell happened?" asked Tony._  
_

"No idea. He said he's been having nightmares, but...I didn't realize they were this bad."_  
_

Bruce shifted slightly in his chair and ran a hand down Natasha's hair. "No one realized. He kept a pretty good poker face about this all."_  
_

Tony snorted and smile slightly, some of the tension draining from the room._  
_

"I wonder what he's dreaming about." Pepper spoke up from her place in between the Iron Man and Thor. Her voice was soft and curious._  
_

"Probably home." Steve said, and they all hoped deep down he was right.

* * *

_The scent was unbearable. Fire he could take, but the smell of burnt bodies and hot metal assaulted his senses. He coughed once, twice, before collapsing to his knees. Clint heard the distinct sound of a woman screaming and he followed it with one task set in his mind: saving her._

_She called out for him, 'Clint, help, please,' and he went in search, sleeking under piles of burning rubble. The scream pierced him again and he started to run. __When he reached the room, Clint kicked in the door and aimed his bow. He only saw her, trapped underneath the bookshelf he helped her build that lazy weekend in May._

_'Clint, love, I'm stuck!' He ran to her side and hefted the furniture off of her. She lay pliant and unmoving except for her eyes as they watched him, suddenly cold and calculating. Clint's brows furrowed with confusion before he felt someone grab his shirt from behind. Anger and bitterness filled his bones an strengthened his will._

_He fought and won before turning back to the woman, her eyes devoid of all emotion. Clint took a gun lying to his right and aimed it at her._

_ 'If you try to find me again, the last thought you have will be this bullet.' His voice didn't sound his own, but he hardly cared. Clint sent one last look to the woman before running out of the building and into the harsh cold of the night._

* * *

__"Fuck," Clint hissed as he came into conciousness, every muscle and bone in his body seemed to ache. His assassin's eyes scanned the dimly lit room before glancing down at the IV in his arm. _What the hell happened to you, Barton?_ He sat up slowly, moving his legs to the side of the bed. After a moment of swearing, he stood up on shaky legs. Small movements carried him slowly to the bathroom where he flicked the lights on and glanced at himself in the mirror. Clint was pale, his hair matted to his forehead from sweat. Bags hung low and dark under his eyes. Turning on the water, Clint splashed his face a few times and tried to clear the memories and the pain. He sighed and looked up, his mind, heart, and blood frozen in his body as he glanced behind him into the black eyes he hadn't seen in years.


End file.
